A broken blue clay pot and one wilted wildflower rest between two small tombstones.
Ashes of my hippie neighbor, Sage the artist, dust the graves.
The graves of his two wives, the recent and the ex.
He promised to love and cherish till death, and he did.
I stood a few moments lost in memories of his art, alcoholism, and watching him care for his sick wives.
As the sun peeked out from a gray cloud, I knelt and pushed three poppy seeds into the broken pot.
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princess2ears 
‘As the sun peeked out from a gray cloud, I knelt and pushed three poppy seeds into the broken pot.’
What a lovely way to honour those who have died.
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Thank you.
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